


Jane's Life's Lottery

by WellTemperedClavier



Category: Daria (Cartoon)
Genre: Choose Your Own Adventure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 15:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 66
Words: 17,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17624618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WellTemperedClavier/pseuds/WellTemperedClavier
Summary: A spin on Kim Newman's "Life's Lottery" (a choose your own adventure novel), inspired by Charles RB's Daria's Life's Lottery.





	1. Chapter 1

1\. You've been here before.  
  
It's the same whiteboard, the same fluorescent lights, and the same Mr. O'Neill reading from the same feel-good script. All around you are the familiar burnouts, screw-ups, and rejects.  
  
Your people, in other words.  
  
You've been here before, but now there's someone new. You didn't quite catch her name, but she sticks out from the crowd. She holds herself the way a popular kid would—someone who's way too cool for a self-esteem class—but she dresses like she doesn't care, and her glasses look heavy enough to count as a weapon.  
  
You're not sure what to make of her. Maybe a fallen queen bee from another school, seeking a new hive in Lawndale? No, queen bees never dress like that. Maybe a nerd slumming with the idiots? But nerds usually sucked up to their teachers, and this girl is grilling Mr. O'Neill with eyebeams of pure contempt, amplified by her glasses.  
  
For some reason, you want to paint her. She reminds you of Dix's [Portrait of the Journalist Sylvia von Harden](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sylvia_von_Harden). Contemptuous, cool, and iconoclastic.  
  
Mr. O'Neill babbles on. "...and when we do, each and every one of you will be able to stand proudly and proclaim, 'I am.' Now, before we..."  
  
The girl raises her hand. "Excuse me. I have a question."  
  
For some reason, you're curious as to what that question might be.  
  
"Sorry, question and answer time is later." Typical Mr. O'Neill answer.  
  
"I want to know what 'realizing your actuality' means."  
  
Somehow, you're pretty sure she's not really wondering. Rather, she just wants to know if Mr. O'Neill has any idea what he's saying.  
  
"It means... look, just let me get through this part, okay? Then there'll be a video! Before we unlock your potential..."  
  
Maybe you should tell her the whole class is rote. You get the feeling she'd be gratified to hear that. Plus, it'd be nice to talk to someone interesting. Everyone else in the self-esteem class belongs there—and you're starting to worry that you belong there, too.  
  
To stay silent, GO TO 2.  
  
To talk to her, GO TO 3.

 


	2. Chapter 2

2\. Why did Ms. Defoe have to be so nice?

You're walking home, wishing you'd told your art teacher that you were too busy, or that you had a sudden onset of flesh-eating bacteria, or something! Instead, you agreed to create art that's representative of "student life at the dawn of a new millennium".

What really galls you is the look of pity in Ms. Defoe's eyes. Like she knows you don't have any friends and barely have a family, and wants to be there for you. It is nice to hear her say how much she likes your art, but you know better than to trust a teacher's praise.

On the other hand, no one said you had to give it your A Game. Maybe it'd be more fun just to screw with Principal Li by putting together something completely weird and inappropriate. Lawndale High as interpreted by [Hieronymus Bosch](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Garden_of_Earthly_Delights).

Then again, you don't exactly want to let Ms. Defoe down. You don't like being pitied… but friendly faces are hard to come by, these days.

To unleash the darkness of your tormented psyche, GO TO 4.

To do something nice and bland, GO TO 5.


	3. Chapter 3

3\. You just wanted Daria to cheer you on.

Well, not literally. The thought of her actually cheering is as unsettling and surreal as a [Dali painting](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Persistence_of_Memory). But you wanted her to at least support you for all the sweat and tears (blood is only a matter of time) that you've put into the track team.

Your teammates like you okay.

But instead, Daria's mad about you getting a bye on a test. Sure, she's never liked athletes, but it wasn't as if she didn't also enjoy some of the perks. Using your athletic privilege to avoid athletics still counted.

Those are your thoughts as she storms off.

"What's up with your friend?" Evan asks.

Evan's another perk. Hell, he kind of got you into this. Not running—you've always loved that—but the team. Helps that he's cute and doesn't have any of the personality defects that afflict most of Lawndale High's male population. And, come to think of it, most of the school's female population as well.

To brush it off, since Daria's not even really a friend, GO TO 6.

To explain, GO TO 7


	4. Chapter 4

4\. Ms. Li hates your painting. Which isn't a surprise—she doesn't strike you as someone interested in art. She can't appreciate the way the contorted figures in your Student Life at the Dawn of a New Millennium recall the tortured souls from Picasso's [Guernica](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guernica_%28Picasso%29).

What you don't expect is how much Ms. Defoe loves it. Student Life at the Dawn of a New Millennium doesn't get into the art show, but Ms. Defoe asks you if she can present it at a Lawndale Community College exhibition focusing on young talent.

Sure, you say. You put your heart and soul into a project you didn't even want to do, so you might as well try and get something from it. Besides, Ms. Defoe will do all the heavy lifting.

Take a deck and draw a card. If you get a numbered card, GO TO 8. If you get a royal, GO TO 9.


	5. Chapter 5

5\. Take a deck and draw a card. If you get the ace of spades, reckless driving makes you GO TO 0.

Otherwise, you end up in a cell, as dark and bleak as one of [Piranesi's Carceri plates](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giovanni_Battista_Piranesi#The_Prisons_%28Carceri%29).

You lean back against the gray cement wall, its hardness somehow amplifying your headache. You're not sure why you volunteered to drive Mystik Spiral to Fremont. Deep down, you suspect you just wanted to get out of the house.

The cops picked you up for speeding. Trent, being the responsible older brother and bandleader that he is, doesn't have enough money to pay the fine.

It's just one frustration after another. Somehow, the fact that you were the one speeding just makes you angrier at him. For once in your life, can't someone bail you out? Cover your mistakes?

Hell, even when you try to do right, like you did with Ms. Defoe's art project, no one cares. They lumped your sunny picture of student life with the rest of the dross. Because that's what it was.

In another world, you might have drawn something on the prison wall, just to show up the warden. In this one, you're too tired to care. You'd rather use your energy for animosity.

Max finally reaches his mom, who wires you the money you need. It's night by the time you leave the jail. You watch as Trent gets into the Tank, already muttering some crummy song lyrics about a "prison break".

He doesn't care. Maybe you shouldn't, either.

To run away, GO TO 10.

To return home, GO TO 11.


	6. Chapter 6

6\. Time slows as you blaze down the track. Your world is condensed to thunderous heartbeats; to the hardness of the red polyurethane beneath your feet; to the parched flesh in your throat, scarred by each breath.

And then you burst through the finish line. A thousand voices roar as one in your honor.

You coast for a while longer, delirious with victory. For a moment, you imagine your triumphal finish from all angles, your motions captured in two dimensions, a la [Duchamp in his pre-Dada days](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marcel_Duchamp#Early_work). You still paint, though not as much.

Lawndale High has won the state track championship, and you had a lot to do with that. Hell of a way to cap off your senior year.

Track team isn't exactly the upper crust of Lawndale High, but it's close enough. Your opinion of the school's elite hasn't really changed—an idiot's still an idiot. But the team's got your back, and Jodie's become a friend. You even let her talk you into going to a pep rally.

You dated Evan for a while in junior year. It didn't work out, but he accepted this turn of events after a week or so of high school drama. Now he's another supportive teammate.

Daria's all but disappeared. Sometimes you feel bad for her, but some people are just too difficult to be friends with. You know that the corruption in the athletics department bothers Jodie, but she understands that compromise is a part of life.

Daria, for all her smarts, never got that.

As far as you're concerned, the byes are just a reward for a service well-done.

Of course, running has its risks. There's a 25% chance that you take a bad fall the next time you run. The bones break, and never heal right. If this happens, GO TO 12.

Otherwise, you're on the track to a college scholarship. GO TO 13.


	7. Chapter 7

7\. Daria's betrayal is not the first.

As you watch her try to maintain composure, you reflect that hers probably won't be the last. People let you down. Your parents all but abandoned you, and Trent isn't much better.

With Daria, you'd let yourself hope this one might be different. You made sure never to depend on each other too much; you both built walls around yourselves, and it worked. Made things safe and comfortable, and every now and then one of you would open the gates, like when your family drove you out of your house and Daria let you stay in hers.

And then she steals your boyfriend.

The sad thing is, if she'd just waited a few more weeks, she wouldn't have needed to steal him. Part of you knew it wasn't going to work with Tom. But Daria had to jump ahead. Just like mom and dad, just like Trent—hell, just like Quinn—she mostly cares about herself.

But it looks like she's trying very, very hard to care about you. Daria never acts like she gives a damn, which is what drew you to her in the first place. That indifference is crumbling before your very eyes. You see it in the way she blinks away tears that she'll never, in a million years, let flow.

"So… what happens now?" she asks.

"I was hoping you knew," you say. Can't someone else take responsibility for once?

"Are we still friends?" She gulps, and there's a momentary blink-and-you'll-miss-it look of total panic on her face. Her expression looks ready to turn into something from a [Francis Bacon](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francis_Bacon_%28artist%29#Late_1940s) painting. "Are we?"

For a moment, you want to say yes. To forget this entire mess happened.

Except it did happen.

"Yeah, we're the kind of friends who can't stand the sight of each other." More accurately, you can't stand the sight of her.

"Temporarily, right?" And at that moment, she sounds almost like a small child asking a parent if things will be okay.

If you say you hope so, but don't mean it, GO TO 14.

If you say you hope so, and mean it, GO TO 15.


	8. Chapter 8

8\. Hard as it is to believe, life's gotten a lot better since Ms. Defoe's contest.

Nothing's really changed on the surface, but the world feels lighter somehow. You paint a lot more. On weekends, you try and go somewhere interesting to find inspiration. National parks, museums, and Dega Street are all grist for the creative mill.

But the best inspiration comes from Lawndale's dorky medieval fair. Excuse me, "Faire".

Seeing your teachers and classmates decked out in gowns and cardboard armor sparks your imagination. One scene, that of Sir DeMartino Felling Sir Jamie, you do in a mock-up illuminated style. You like it so much that you put it on the inside of your locker.

A squeaky-voiced blond student notices it a year later.

"That's a very impressive painting! It reminds me of the work done by [Abbess Herrad of Landsberg](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Herrad_of_Landsberg), though with a more modern twist."

You blink, physics textbook in hand. You know your artists pretty well, but Herrad of Landsberg is a new one to you.

The guy's name is Ted DeWitt-Clinton. After talking for a bit, he asks if you'd be willing to draw pictures of the characters he and his friends made for some kind of role-playing game.

"Which is not to say that Advanced Dungeons & Dragons is even remotely accurate as a facsimile of the Middle Ages," he says, "but it is entertaining."

And that's how you fall into the geek life. It's a little repetitive, but you don't mind. You're invited into their odd, insular world. You don't always grok to things like THAC0 and the physics behind warp drive, but you enjoy the creativity and the passion.

While you work toward your Associate's Degree in fine art, Ted urges you to submit your efforts to conventions and contests. You do, even though it's a crowded field, and the odds aren't great. But if you draw a diamond from a deck of cards, someone takes notice and you GO TO 16.

Otherwise, GO TO 17.


	9. Chapter 9

9\. Thanks to Defoe and the faculty at Lawndale Community, people started noticing your work. You enter paintings into local exhibits and shows. Occasionally, you even get a buyer.

You paint for the love of it. The extra attention makes it all the sweeter. And Ms. Defoe pushes you to keep up your GPA.

"I think you'd flourish at art school," she says.

Grades have never been your strong point. You get help from Daria Morgendorffer, the girl you saw in the self-esteem class so long ago, and you find you actually rather like her.

She's the one who finds you the art scholarship. It won't pay all the way through school, but it'll help a lot.

You get accepted into the Art School of the Chesapeake. Not top tier, but not bad. Still, it's too far to commute, and you start to worry once you start to factor in the cost of independent living.

And then you get a letter from the Design Bureau, the crafters of logos around the world. They've seen your talent, and they're offering a paid internship in their Baltimore regional office.

For what it's worth, [Van Gogh](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vincent_van_Gogh) would have probably lived longer and painted more if he'd had a stable bank account.

If you start your career, GO TO 18.

If you stay in school, GO TO 19.


	10. Chapter 10

10\. On the first night, you think you see the Tank roaming Fremont's streets. You don't bother to find out if it really is.

Hunting for loose change earns you enough for bus fare to Swedesville. You spend the trip trying to ignore the hunger gaping in your stomach, or the way you just want to lie down across the bus seats and pass out. At Swedesville, you steal some untended orange juice to stave off the pangs.

This repeats itself, with minor variations, until you reach Iowa's cornfields.

You pick up the rules pretty quick. Stay out of sight. Never pass up an opportunity to eat. The kindness of strangers can help, but it's no substitute for a quick hand. Maybe you could go back home—you suspect you should—but you've already gone so far. Survival becomes its own goal.

Is Trent looking for you? You doubt it. He probably never told mom and dad that you disappeared.

You immerse yourself in the nighttime world of America's suburbs, the streets wide and desolate like a [de Chirico](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giorgio_de_Chirico) painting but much, much darker.

The world's not a kind place to runaways. Draw a card. A numbered heart means you GO TO 0, another casualty of indifference or malice.

Draw a numbered diamond, and the police either find you or you turn yourself in. They send you back to Lawndale. GO TO 11.

Draw a royal, and you get pretty good at theft. The right people notice, and you suddenly have work. GO TO 22.

Draw a numbered club or spade, and you drift to a bus stop in Council Bluffs, IA. It's night, and you're shivering, and you don't remember the last time you ate a hot meal. Dirt is plastered to your skin.

The bus arrives, a one-way to Blair, NB. Next to you, there's an old brick building, windows all bright with yellow light. A sign out in front reads: "All of God's Children are Welcome to Break Bread with Us in Fellowship".

You don't much like holy rollers. But you're also pretty hungry.

To get on the bus, GO TO 20.

To eat, GO TO 21.


	11. Chapter 11

11\. There's not much going on in Lawndale these days.

You didn't graduate high school, but you don't think anyone noticed. It's a quiet life in the moldering Lane house. Trent comes and goes to gigs that never pay enough. The two of you don't talk much anymore.

Retail awaits, and it kills you a little bit more each passing day. You paint, sometimes, but the mood rarely strikes.

Other Lanes drop by from time to time to complain about their lives. You pretend to listen. Penny talks about how it's impossible to get reliable help for running her crafts stand in Panama. Summer frets about her now-teenage children. Wind's a mess.

You're twenty-two years old before you know it.

You come home from Pay Way one night to find Trent sleeping in. Did he miss a show? You're not even sure. Seeing him sprawled on the couch, the decrepit living room as entropic and rubble-strewn as the background of a [Beksinski](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zdzis%C5%82aw_Beksi%C5%84ski) hellscape, you realize you need to escape.

But can you?

To think about it, GO TO 23.

To call Penny for a plane ticket, GO TO 24.


	12. Chapter 12

12\. You never totally warmed up to Coach Morris, but she did teach you how to fight through the pain. Graduation comes, and you smile as you limp to your teammates, the bunch of you promising to support each other no matter what.

You don't quite believe it, but it feels nice at the time.

Lawndale Community is okay. You don't declare a major right away. The sedentary life puts on the pounds. You tell people you're going through a [Boterismo](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fernando_Botero) phase, but only your art prof gets the joke.

Running always sparked the old creative juices, so you find it harder to paint the way you once did. Instead, you do copies. A local outfit called Gary's Gallery churns out reproductions. It's not creative, but it at least takes your mind off of things.

Get a deck and draw a card. If you pick out a spade, you run into a guy who looks as if he belongs in 1947. He's weird, but cute. He says you have the look of a pin-up model. You don't think he means it—you're chubby, not curvy—but no one's complimented you on your looks since high school. When he asks you out, you don't hesitate to say yes and GO TO 25.

Draw anything else, and you GO TO 26.


	13. Chapter 13

13\. The college life is good for athletes, and you enjoy every moment of it. Competition peels away the old anxieties, makes you focused.

Your team gives you direction. They're the reason you get up in the morning, and the reason you (usually) go to bed at a decent hour each night. Art still matters, but by junior year you admit to yourself that it's become a distant second priority. You do gain a new appreciation for the works of [LeRoy Neiman](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LeRoy_Neiman).

The University of Maryland: College Park lets you get away with mediocre grades so long as you run to earn them. The system works for you, so you don't object. Neither do you object when some of your teammates start injecting. You join in.

Steroids: the breakfast of champions. Take a deck and draw a card. If you draw a royal, you get away with it for now, and become a professional. Just remember that the scrutiny will only get worse, and you now have much farther to fall AND SO ON.

Draw anything else, and you're found out.

Without anywhere else to go, you end up back in Lawndale. You spend a month clearing your head and trying to figure out your next step. If there's one thing you learned from track, it's that you can't afford to stay still.

In the meantime, you get some work as a babysitter of all things. You worry that parents will find out about your past, but if they do, no one cares. Being with kids softens the hard edges you picked up as a runner—they like you for who you are.

To stay in Lawndale for a while longer, GO TO 27.

To seek your fortunes elsewhere, GO TO 28.


	14. Chapter 14

14\. You regret attending Lawndale High's graduation ceremony.

They seat you in the back, next to Andrea. That's not so bad; you never minded her. You feel pretty good when she says hi—it's been a while since anyone's done that.

But the endless self-congratulation curdles your joy into hate. Lawndale High's collective complacency is so great that you're not even sure [Hogarth](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Hogarth) would know how to mock it.

It hurts when Daria takes the stand as valedictorian. You heard that she broke up with Tom soon after they got together, but that doesn't really help.

Daria's speech is short, cold, and cruel. Gasps and nervous looks ripple through the audience as she steps down.

She punctured their smugness, and you can't even enjoy it.

Trent drives you home, and you go to your room. You think about the way everything broke down last year.

Maybe you should have forgiven her.

If you do nothing, GO TO 29.

If you try and reconcile, GO TO 30.


	15. Chapter 15

15\. It takes a lot of pushing on Daria's part, but you've finally made it to BFAC. Your dorm room is as minimalist as a [Carl Andre](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carl_Andre)installation. Perfect for you, in other words.

Maybe you make good on your plan to lose your virginity on moving-in day, maybe you don't. Either way, it ends up being pretty irrelevant.

The work is intense. You aren't just competing with bored suburbanites who occasionally splash paint on campus; rather, you're going up against the driven weirdoes that art schools are known to attract.

It's great!

But the long hours are wearing you down. Project after project blurs together. Sometimes you nod off in class. You barely see Daria, who seems to have an awful lot of spare time compared to you.

You're trying to finish a sculpture, an oil painting, and a collage one night, when you get a knock on your door. It's Stella, your classmate, holding a bottle of Two-Buck Chuck.

"Hey, Jane! Jonas is throwing a party. I was going to take Maddy, but she bailed. You want to come?"

If you focus on your work, GO TO 31.

If you party, GO TO 32.


	16. Chapter 16

16\. You're screaming at the top of your lungs, but Owen acts like nothing happened.

When you met him, a mere week into your job as a colorist at Iconoclast Comics, you thought he was another Ms. Defoe or Ted. Nerds can be an intimidating bunch; sure, you knew about superheroes, but you never were never steeped in comics the way these people are.

But Owen guided you. He's part of the creative team, supposedly instrumental in the creation of The Supreme, Iconoclast's flagship title. When your coworkers teased the new girl, he stepped in. Said he saw talent, and said it again when you showed him your own work and character ideas. The sketches for your concept, The Cowl, is more [Gustav Dore](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gustave_Dor%C3%A9) than [Jack Kirby](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jack_Kirby), but he got that and took an interest.

He took an interest in you, and you reciprocated. Owen's in his forties, but he's aged well.

The other day you took a look at Iconoclast's pipeline and see Owen's brand new brainchild, The Cowl, ripped straight from your sketchbook and onto his PowerPoint Presentation.

Owen didn't even get The Cowl right. Somehow, she's gotten a lot bustier, her namesake garment no longer hiding a face that someone decided should be model-pretty.

And now you're letting it all out while the rest of the office stares. Owen shrugs.

"Look, I know it hurts, but how do you think things are done in this industry? Pretty much every big character is a rip-off of someone else's character. Just do your time as a colorist, and maybe one day you'll be in my chair."

You're trembling. You want to rip his face off his skull.

"After everything you said… I thought…"

You falter, and turn around, walking right out of Owen's office. The bathroom offers sanctuary, and you lean against the stall, crying and shaking.

If you complain to management, GO TO 33.

If you decide to move on, GO TO 34.


	17. Chapter 17

17\. Your twenties are a bewildering whirl of conventions, late-night gaming sessions, and art. Sure, there's other stuff: community college, time put in at jobs that barely pay. But you mostly remember the good stuff.

Being a geeky artist can be expensive, but the Internet gives you a way to sell your art. Rule 34 puts some extra bread on the table. You worry about burnout, but somehow you still have inspiration to do your own work. You draw on a wide range of inspiration: [Boris Vallejo](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boris_Vallejo) meets [Ilya Repin](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ilya_Repin), and when you do something manga-style you always find a way to reference a worthy like [Hokusai](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hokusai).

The friends you make in high school and college come and go, except for Ted, his oddness matched only by his confidence. He writes and you draw, the two of you spinning stories that not many people check out, but you're so happy that it doesn't matter. Friendship turns into something more, and it's the first time for both of you. No matter what happens, Ted's at your side.

You're at Ted's side when the doctors diagnose him with leukemia. You make the most of the time left, and you're holding his hand when he goes.

You mourn, but keep on with the business of living. Commissions and part-time work ensure there's a roof over your head. When your thirties roll around, you meet Nicholas, who reminds you of Ted. He proposes to you three years later. Two years after that, and you're a mother.

"Jane Lane" will never be a household name in geekdom. But that's not a big deal. You learned a long time ago that life's more about the journey than the destination. AND SO ON.


	18. Chapter 18

18\. Maybe your hopes for the Design Bureau were too high. You're only an intern, after all. They hired you for your drawing hand, not your brain. Except that a lot of the time you're just running errands. You wonder if you can put "coffee retriever" on your resume.

Artistically speaking, you're a glorified Xerox. [Warhol](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andy_Warhol) could get away with that, but the world's moved on.

It's a paid internship, but the pay's not much. You still live at home. Trent and the band keep you company.

One day, you start scribbling designs on a piece of blank paper. You're supposed to be filing, but you just can't concentrate. Maybe it's the coffee, or maybe the result of your creativity finally spilling through, but you let your mind run wild. Only belatedly do you actually sort the files.

As you leave the office, you realize you left your drawings at your table. They might get you in trouble, but they probably won't.

To leave your art, GO TO 35.

To retrieve your art, GO TO 36.


	19. Chapter 19

19\. You expected to find kindred spirits at the Chesapeake School of Art. Turns out, most of the students are marketers masquerading as artists. Behind the dyed hair and pierced lips are minds greedy and calculating enough to put the Lawndale bourgeoisie to shame.

It's not all bad. You make a few friends, and have some good teachers. But you never really connect. Many of the projects you see are designed to shock, to provoke, to unsettle. So are a lot of ad campaigns.

The world of modern art loses its luster. You delve more into medieval and ancient art, when the artist stayed anonymous. True, they made whatever the local bullyboy wanted them to paint, but at least they let their work speak for itself. And you're sure they still expressed themselves in subtle ways. [Behzad of Herat](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kam%C4%81l_ud-D%C4%ABn_Behz%C4%81d) never needed to sign his work to let people know he made it.

It's almost evening, the air clean and clear after an afternoon squall. You have an upcoming night class on "abstraction and identity in postmodern urban spaces", but you already know what the professor's going to say.

Maybe you should go for a walk, instead.

To walk, GO TO 37.

To attend class, GO TO 38.


	20. Chapter 20

20\. You reach Portland, OR before you finally break down. Local charities help you get back on your tired feet. You lie about your age, and say you fled an abusive family in Pennsylvania.

It's close enough to the truth.

You wander around the outskirts of town. You work at restaurants, at bars, and once as a security guard (that job doesn't last long). Boyfriends come and go. Charities keep you fed when your meager funds can't.

You make art when you can, but it's an expensive hobby. Nowadays, you mostly do pencil sketches. Sometimes you leave them at bus stops and cafes, the designs detailed and whimsical like [John Tenniel](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Tenniel) illustrations. Keep it light—the world's already got enough darkness.

You like to think the sketches add a bit of wonder to peoples' lives. It's not like you're ever in one place long enough to accumulate many possessions, so you might as well give them away.

Drugs provide comfort. There's a 20% chance that you comfort yourself to death. GO TO 0.

If you survive, Trent finally tracks you down halfway through your twenty-sixth year. He never stopped looking for you. And how he's changed. Somehow he cleaned up. He works as an EMT, is married and with a kid on the way. He begs you to come back.

You say you'll think about it. Deep down, you're not sure you can rely on him. At least here your life's your own. It's hard, but comfortable in its peculiar way.

The years go on. You drift from place to place. Sometimes you like to think of yourself as a wise woman of the streets, but making the same mistakes over and over again probably doesn't count as wisdom.

Nights seem to get colder when you reach your mid-thirties. You look ten years older than your actual age. Trent still tries to reel you back. There's a niece and a nephew who've never met their aunt before, and Trent knows you'd be the coolest aunt ever.

Flip a coin. Heads, you go back home and Trent welcomes you. You never totally adjust, and sometimes you fall back into bad habits, but you grow more stable over the years AND SO ON.

Tails, and you stay in Portland. Each year gets a little harder than the last AND SO ON.


	21. Chapter 21

21\. The Church of Christ's Fellowship saw that you hungered, that you needed shelter, and they provided in abundance. The preaching annoyed you at first, but living on the streets eroded your pride.

When you accept Jesus as Lord, you are truly reborn.

Years go on and you settle down. Even now, you can't pretend that Council Bluffs is that interesting of a town, but that doesn't matter. You have your brothers and sisters in Christ, and plenty of lost souls to help the way the church helped you.

Art's still a big part of your life. You paint the classic scenes in the timeworn style: Jesus preaching on the Mount, the baptism of Cornelius, and others. Pastor Reynolds hangs some of them up in the church office.

Personally, you don't think any of the art you create really captures the feeling of being saved. Maybe that's beyond any artist's ability.

It turns out Trent never stopped looking for you. The Spiral's gone, and he's apprenticed to an electrician. Trent doesn't know what to make of your new life, but he's glad you're safe.

Not everything in church sits well with you. Did God really tell the Israelites to kill every Amalekite man, woman, child, and animal? The important thing is that you have faith in the Lord and the sacrifice of his only begotten Son.

You are thinking about this sacrifice when inspiration strikes. Paint hits canvas, bright colors take form, the story of how you met the Lord told through shape and light. You can't capture your Damascene moment with representation—only abstraction gets it across.

When you finish, you see your faith. There's some [Kandinsky](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wassily_Kandinsky) in there, to be sure, but it's you.

You wonder what Pastor Reynolds will think. Christian artists have a duty to let their work spread the Word of the Lord. Yours does… but you don't know if anyone else will understand it.

To show the work, GO TO 39.

To keep it to yourself, GO TO 40.


	22. Chapter 22

22\. It's a boiling hot night in Highland, TX, made worse by the trailer's lack of insulation. You sip tepid beer as your "business partner", Alice, negotiates a deal with Earl.

You met Alice when you tried to steal her purse in Omaha—she'd left it unattended on a bench. Somehow, she liked your gumption, and you found yourself working for her an hour later. Simple jobs—take drugs from point A to point B, mostly. She had you deal a few times, but you're not aggressive enough to make enough sales.

But Alice likes art, and you use that to charm yourself into her small and seedy court. You're not that important—and she reminds you of this often. Still, you have a place.

You'd never imagined yourself embracing a life of crime. But hey, it worked for [Caravaggio](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caravaggio).

For a while, anyway.

Earl doesn't seem sure about relying on Alice as a transporter.

"Thing is, the cartels are moving in. I'm about ready to bug out of here," he says.

Alice opens her mouth, maybe to ask why Earl agreed to meet if he was planning to leave. She never gets the chance. Something whizzes past your ear, and a bloody hole opens up in Alice's forehead. She pitches forward.

"Get down!" Earl yells.

You throw yourself to the ground and shut your eyes. Automatic fire tears into the night and rips apart the trailer walls.

There's a 50% chance that you die quickly. GO TO 0.


	23. Chapter 23

23\. The Lane house grows monstrous around you. Shadows stretch and mold darkens the walls. It's safe though, and you rarely leave.

Trent still goes out. He now works for a mortuary, and his income keeps the two of you afloat. Sometimes, he plays music at local bars, but Mystik Spiral is a thing of the past. You start painting again in your thirties, your thoughts leaping out of your mind and onto your canvas. The outside world was only ever a distraction.

It's been ages since you've seen any of your other siblings. Father died years ago, and apparently left the house in your name.

"Hey, Janie," Trent says, one freezing winter night. "Do you think we did right staying here?"

You don't answer. You're satisfied with the [Edward Gorey](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_Gorey) illustration that your life has become.

Trent dies soon after he turns fifty. Alone in the drafty rooms, you burn some of your lesser paintings to keep warm. Charcoal serves as your preferred medium for new work. You only survive him for a few months.

The police find your body when a neighbor asks them to do a welfare check. The executor of your estate is astonished by the two-dozen paintings scattered through the house, each one a startling and brilliant vision. They become collector's items in a few years, going for tens or even hundreds of thousands.

Your first private buyer is a reclusive author named Daria Morgendorffer.

GO TO 0.


	24. Chapter 24

24\. You look out at the darkening sky, stripes of magenta smoldering over the Pacific, softening to violet and then to black the farther up you look. The night air's warm and wet, taxing your every movement. But the beer's good.

Things fell apart with Penny pretty quickly. She'd never been your favorite sister, and you never liked any of your sisters.

Fortunately, there are plenty of English-language schools looking for teachers. You sign up, and set the stage for the next few years of your life. Money's scarce, but that's okay—you don't need much.

You stay in Panama the first few years, and then drift south. You're fluent in Spanish at this point. In Colombia, you hike up emerald hills garlanded by thick flowers and swarms of butterflies. You explore the shadowy cafes and dance halls of Buenos Aires, and try the tango, though the Porteños don't hesitate to point out your lack of skill. The lunar deserts of the high Andes become your next home, and your students teach you a smattering of Quechua.

And now you're back on Panama's Pacific coast, six years after leaving the States. You haven't done much art beyond sketching, but you have a lifetime's worth of inspiration rattling around in your skull. You just hope you can get the colors right.

Penny's still in Panama City, blaming anyone and everyone for her lack of success. She's relayed you a message from dad, who's photographing Balkan monasteries. He apparently wants an assistant. Penny won't do it, but she thinks you might.

You wonder if it's time to go home. You've had fun teaching English all through South America, but you're not sure how much good you actually did. The teaching routine seems too much like an escape valve for misfit Yanquis. You're the sort of person [Diego Rivera](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diego_Rivera) sneered at. Besides, it'll be easier to paint back home.

To follow dad, GO TO 41.

To head home, GO TO 42.


	25. Chapter 25

25\. It takes a long time to get rid of Nathan.

Somehow, he always knows the right thing to say. How lucky he is to have you, how beautiful you are, how nobody else understands his style. Never mind that he always does this after saying how worthless you are, how fat you are, and how you don't understand him.

Deep down, you already figured him out a few months into the relationship. But you were a loser, a broken bird whose best days were long behind her. So you followed him to Los Angeles.

Finally though, it becomes too much.

You're sitting on the bed in a bleak little motel on LA's outskirts. Through slats on the windows you can see a neon-lit desert of asphalt and strip malls. [Edward Hopper](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_Hopper) would love it.

You have enough money for two more nights in this room. Nathan took the car. All you really have are some vintage clothes, and a sketchbook full of retro designs—Nathan had vague dreams of starting a nostalgic clothing line, and you helped to show how much you loved him.

What a waste.

LA's not a cheap city. On the other hand, there's opportunity here. You can still paint, though you left your portfolio back in Lawndale. Maybe Trent can mail it to you?

To leave Los Angeles, GO TO 44.

To stay and find work, GO TO 45.


	26. Chapter 26

26\. There's something sublime about copying.

This realization dawns on you over time. Painting is about putting yourself on canvas, while copying is about losing yourself. When you duplicate something like a [Titian](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Titian), you focus purely on the colors and brushstrokes, form over content.

You don't think much about your original work, any longer. Feels too far back. Gary's Gallery is a full-time job now. He invites you to events where you rub shoulders with real artists.

At these events, you're usually too ashamed to tell people what you actually do. If you mention it, their patronizing smiles say volumes. They don't get how difficult it actually is.

You wonder if there's a way to show them up.

On the other hand, maybe it's the wake-up call you need.

To show them up, GO TO 46.

To pursue your art, GO TO 47.


	27. Chapter 27

27\. Multiple babysitting jobs eventually leads to working part-time at a preschool. A degree in teaching just seems like the next logical step. You jog in the mornings, study at day, and paint by night. Your art's more representational now. The works of [John Philip Falter](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Philip_Falter) act as your muse.

You worry about your 'roid-laden past, but it turns out few people care or remember.

Just like old times.

It seems almost too convenient when, after years of student teaching, you end up getting Ms. Defoe's old job. She still remembers you, even though you abandoned art for the track team.

"I'm honored that you're the one taking my place here," she says, and you think she means it.

Daria starts teaching English at Lawndale High a year later. You find out when you run into her at the teacher's lounge one September morning. Thick lenses magnify the shock in her wide eyes when she sees you.

"I guess I'd better sue for peace," she says.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea."

The peace treaty holds. Step by step, it returns to friendship. Time and pain have eroded Daria's flintiness. You suppose they've done the same for you.

Lawndale High hasn't changed—a handful of good teachers stand up to ignorance and apathy. You don't get through to most or even many of the students, but you reach a few.

And when the week's over, you and Daria head over to the bar and snark about the ridiculousness of life.

Just like old times, AND SO ON.


	28. Chapter 28

28\. You watch as the sun rises over the wreckage of a town. Smoke-stained light flows through the shattered streets and gutted houses. It's been a long and watchful night, but a thankfully quiet one.

Moura comes in to relieve you, and smiles as she hands you a cup of black tea. You thank her as you walk down to the first floor, your AK-47 a comforting weight against your shoulder. The YPJ gave you a home. They gave you a team, one stronger and closer than any you've ever had.

The Iraqi Peshmerga turned you away. Thanks, they said, but we don't really want volunteers. The Syrian YPJ, on the other hand, takes anyone willing to fight.

And fight you did. Not a whole lot, but enough. You can also speak Kurdish and Arabic pretty well, for what it's worth.

Your unit loves you and you love them. Everyone's saved each other's life at least once. They call you [Banksy](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Banksy), for the way you draw pictures on the broken walls, incorporating bullet holes and jagged edges in creative ways. Ruins are the only canvas you have.

Da'esh is mostly gone, but there's still fighting to be done. It's not clear what'll happen next. The world gets more chaotic by the day, and you're not sure if this fight will really mean anything in the end.

But to you, your unit means everything. AND SO ON.


	29. Chapter 29

29\. Lawndale's pretty cozy as prisons go.

There's an Associate's in fine art hung up for display in your room—boredom motivated you to get it, but you're proud all the same. Sometimes you look at it before you go to your job at Arthaus, on Dega Street, selling overpriced supplies to rich bohemians.

Trent's girlfriend, Eunice, moved in a year ago and she's a good fit. The Lane house is still dirty, but no longer so lonely. You've had a few boyfriends—one good, one bad—but you're comfortably single for the time being.

When you don't paint, you explore the Internet. You think back to your short-lived JaneCam project, and wonder if you could get farther on YouTube. One day, you make a video in which you analyze the [Arnolfini Portrait](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arnolfini_Portrait). You try to be fun, staying respectful and explaining why it's so beautiful, while giving the occasional sarcastic aside.

After all, you can't be the only one who thinks it looks like the groom's hat is trying to eat his head.

You do more. Visitor traffic picks up when you start featuring bad paintings. You really take off when you go after Daniel Dotson, he of the pierced paper plates. You channel Daria for this, and don't hold back. Viewers love it.

As your Internet following grows, you get offers from a whole host of people who make their livings mocking bad films, games, and books. You guest-star in a few of their videos, though you resist joining their studios. Viewers push you to explore the worst that the world of visual arts has to offer.

You don't want to. You got into this because you love art.

On the other hand, Internet money and retail income put together make for a modest but comfortable living.

To embrace the Internet, GO TO 48.

To keep it at arm's length, GO TO 49.


	30. Chapter 30

30\. Daria hangs up the moment she hears your voice.

You tried.

You sign up for community college, mostly for lack of anything else to do. Occasional parental stipends and pizza delivery job keep you funded.

And then, three years after high school, Mystik Spiral makes it big. Their single, "Total Collapse" gets airplay across the country and beyond.

"Hey, Janey, we could really use someone to help us with brochure designs and stuff," Trent says to you, on the eve of their tri-state tour.

"I dunno, I'd hate to fall behind on my pizza delivery schedule," you say. "Tell you what: figure out which direction the spiral goes, and stick with it. Do that, and I'll help."

"Uh, it goes clockwise."

"Great—"

"Wait, no. Counterclockwise."

You glare at him, and he holds up his hands. "Never mind. Clockwise."

One tour turns into another. You design merchandise, flyers, and everything else. German Expressionists, particularly early [Conrad Felixmueller](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conrad_Felixm%C3%BCller), give inspiration.

Trouble's brewing, though. Folks love "Total Collapse", but don't care about anything else in the Mystik Spiral discography. Frankly, you can't blame them. Trent got lucky with "Total Collapse".

Impressed by your work, Mystik Spiral's label, Degraded Records, offers to hire you for their marketing team. Trent wants you to stay where you are. Fame's hitting him hard, and you know he also sees trouble in the band's future.

To stick with Trent, GO TO 50.

To work for Degraded Records, GO TO 51.


	31. Chapter 31

31\. You work. You keep working until you never want to paint again, and then you work some more.

You stop. You grab a painting you started a month ago and tear it in two, and then in four, and so forth. For a moment, you consider taping it back together and giving it some dumb title like Deconstruction, and you laugh until you sob.

You're done with BFAC, and you're done with art. Daria tries to convince you to come back, but you say no. Hell, BFAC was more her idea than yours.

Like so many Americans before you, you head west in search of a new start. You finally stop in Arlen, TX, mostly because you don't have the funds to go much further. People here don't much care about art, which suits you fine.

You work at bars, at Laundromats, and at grocery stores. A young misfit named Clancy sweeps you off your feet and you marry him. You divorce him a year later, when his drinking becomes too much of a problem.

Community college nets you an AA in business, and you use that to grab an office job at the ABC Insulation Corporation. You reach a managerial position in four years. You marry another local misfit, Blake, and this time it sticks.

It's not the life you ever envisioned having. Arlen's not really your kind of town, but you no longer think there is a kind of town for you. At any rate, you have roots here. Blake understands you, and you love your two kids, Barry and Jennifer.

You try painting again soon after your fortieth birthday. At first, you go for realism, but you swerve into fauvism. You'll be the [Matisse](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henri_Matisse)of the prairies!

You don't quite manage that. Folks come in from around Heimlich County to take a look, some of them puzzled, some of them pleased. You're forgotten soon enough.

But you keep on painting, and you love it, Blake loves it, and so do the kids (even though they pretend not to during their teenage years). AND SO ON.


	32. Chapter 32

32\. The year after graduation means more work. Stella gets you a job curating Preposterous!, an avant-garde gallery and coffeehouse combo on the edge of Philadelphia. They want someone young and hip, and you can pretend to be hip.

All the while, you work on your own projects. In the meantime, you share a cramped apartment with three other people, too busy to really be bothered by the crowding.

Life's hard, but you're making it work.

A lot of your BFAC friends are still in Boston, not close but not so far that you can't drive up once every few months to have fun like in the old days. Daria's back in Lawndale, working data entry.

You worry about her, sometimes. Daria calls at odd hours, her voice tight and tense as she spills out the week's latest indignities. You know that she didn't enjoy college, and came out it with social skills worse than what she came in with.

All you can do is keep her company. She seems almost happy on the rare occasions you come down to visit.

One year leads to another. You meet the artists whose work you curate, and you even like a few of them. When Samantha, the "abstract expressionist of 21st century angst" invites you to her exhibit in NYC, you hop at the chance. Granted, you don't actually like her paintings that much, but she's pretty cool as a person.

And at the exhibit, you meet agents. You tell them about your work, and they're interested.

Five months later, you stand next to your very own Symphony in Black and Red and show it to the NY press. You get a brief mention in ARTnews. They compare you to [Barnett Newman](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barnett_Newman), which bothers you a bit since you were much more inspired by [Rothko](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mark_Rothko) and [Seurat](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Georges_Seurat). Oh well.

Samantha tells you to move up to NYC.

"You're on your way up, Jane. But you gotta go to where the action is," she tells you.

It's a hell of an opportunity. Your dream is in your grasp.

But Daria's getting worse. Internet makes it easier to keep in touch, but she might need you nearby. And you wouldn't be where you are if she hadn't convinced you to go to BFAC.

To stay in Philly, GO TO 52.

To move to NYC, GO TO 53.


	33. Chapter 33

33\. Your complaints fall on deaf ears, and cost you your job.

Ted believes you, but he can't really do anything about it. The comics industry doesn't care for the opinions of medieval literature PhD candidates in UT Austin.

You scrabble for commission work to keep yourself afloat.

But you don't give up.

You keep doing original work, and that gets the attention of a start-up studio called Darklight Comics. You start off in the trenches of coloring. It takes a while to sell your idea: Artscape.

Too high concept, they say. No one will understand a story about a mythical world where each kingdom represents and is drawn in a particular artistic style.

You spend the better part of a year proving them wrong. Realms based on impressionism, Art Deco, Baroque style, and more come to life in your efforts. You even throw in one kingdom inspired by [Steve Ditko](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steve_Ditko)—know your audience, after all.

Their jaws drop when you finally finish it. They approve Artscape a year later. It's never the most popular franchise. But the readers who do like it, really like it.

Time reveals the sins of men in power, one after another. Turns out, Owen stole most of his ideas from women at Iconoclast. You make your story known, along with the others.

Iconoclast fires Owen, and he slinks off into obscurity. The company offers you a senior creative position, but you turn it down. You don't need them anymore.

Artscape is just getting started, AND SO ON.


	34. Chapter 34

34\. You work at Iconoclast for a while longer. Seeing Owen glad-hand his way through life makes you sick. When he starts picking up on another young woman, you try and warn her, only to get ignored.

You give your two weeks' notice at the end of the day.

Drifting suits you for a bit, but doesn't keep you fed. Working property management does. The job keeps you busy. When you have time, you retreat to your studio and create.

The nerd stuff no longer holds much appeal. You plunge back into art. Bit by bit, a new project takes form: a graphic history of [Artemisia Gentileschi](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Artemisia_Gentileschi).

The project takes years. You tell no one. When it's complete, you consider selling it to an agent—but why risk another Owen? Instead, you post it online without fanfare.

Slowly but surely, the world falls in love with it. They love how you lavished attention on each and every panel, in the manner of the old masters. They love how you tell the story of an almost forgotten artist.

Offers come in. But you already have a job, and it pays fine, thank you very much.

Alone in your studio, you're free to create AND SO ON.


	35. Chapter 35

35\. The Design Bureau loves the art you accidentally leave on the desk. One recommendation leads to another.

Now, hundreds of millions of people see your work each day, and they don't even know it.

You stare at the blank notepad in front of you, sip your coffee, and then lean back in your chair. Outside, Manhattan's sprawling [Mondrian](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piet_Mondrian) grid is lit up for the night. Commerce dispels darkness. Five clients expect new logo designs by morning, and you've started on zero.

It's time to watch some TV.

You flick the switch on your portable set.

"When these tourists dropped in on Australia, they didn't expect the local fauna to drop down on them! Koalas ate my baby, next on Sick Sad World!"

You zone out, letting the on-screen images bounce around in your head. Free association, they call it. Picking up your pen, you let the random images guide your hand. One design is followed by another.

To your credit, none of them resemble koalas.

By midnight, you have a dozen designs on your paper, and you like three of them. You need two more good logos, for Chao Manufacturing and Linden Tool & Dye.

It's a demanding life, but a good one, especially considering where you came from.

You still do your own art from time to time, though you honestly find advertising more interesting at this point. Art keeps you stuck in your own head. Marketing opens up the heads of others, letting you feast on the gooey insides.

Twisted, sure, but you like that. AND SO ON.


	36. Chapter 36

36\. One day, you stand up from your desk at the Design Bureau, walk out, and never return.

You sink into a funk. Trent does his best, but in him you see your future, and that scares you. The Design Bureau was your chance, but you couldn't cut it.

You're practically in a fugue state when you go to the Navy recruiter's office. But hey, you're in good physical health (you never stopped running) and you've kept your mental issues to yourself.

America sends you to the far corners of the world. You breathe in the tropical miasma of smoke and rotting fruit that hovers over Manila Bay, and keep a watchful eye on the blue seas off the African Horn. Turns out you have an aptitude for languages. You finish mastering Spanish and also learn Farsi, Arabic, and a bit of Swahili.

Whenever you get leave, you search for the nearest art museum. This is how you discover the work of [Rey Paz Contreras](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rey_Paz_Contreras), who creates beauty from refuse. Feels like a metaphor for art in general.

The Navy doesn't get involved in direct fighting these days, but it's not without dangers. Take a deck and draw a card. A king of diamonds means you GO TO 0, and your country thanks you for your sacrifice.

Finally though, your term is up. Your knowledge could make you valuable to the intelligence community. But as much as you loved and still love the Navy, you are skeptical about how American power is sometimes used.

To apply for the NSA, GO TO 54.

To become civilian, GO TO 55.


	37. Chapter 37

37\. Your roaming takes you to one of the school's exhibits, titled "The Bleeding Edge of the New Millennium". The first thing you see is a collection of paper plates jammed onto spears.

This is art, apparently.

Next to you is Isabelle Nguyen, one of your classmates, though you've never actually talked to her. She's studying the display, arms folded and thin lips set in determined boredom.

"Remember when art required actual effort?" she says.

"Oh, it still does," you reply. "Relentless self-promotion takes a lot of work."

You hit it off pretty quickly. An hour later, Isabelle says she has to go. There's a College Republicans meeting that night, and as one of the five Republicans on campus, she has to attend.

"You want to go along?" she asks.

Art school is pretty liberal. And if that means they go for paper plates on spears…

"Sure," you say.

The College Republicans become your home at the Chesapeake School of Arts. Your eyes sometimes glaze over on the policy discussions, and the chapter leader is a bit of a blowhard (Isabelle agrees with you on that), but the rest are okay. Isabelle's the important one, and together you mock the pretensions of your classmates.

Most of the students at the Chesapeake School of Art are trust fund babies who want to shake down the society that gave them everything. You had nothing (well, almost nothing), and worked your way up. Isabelle says you've always been a conservative—you just didn't know it.

You graduate and follow Isabelle to Orange County, California, where her family lives. Mr. and Mrs. Nguyen help the two of you get set up in a small Costa Mesa apartment. Isabelle puts her skills to political use, while you work as a freelance artist. Sometimes, the two of you work together on GOP brochures, flyers, and other media.

On weekends you explore the chaparral with sketchbook in hand, just like [Victor Matson](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Victor_Matson) did.

Isabelle's more than a friend at this point. Odd, but so what? You don't like the idea of letting your sexuality define you. Most of her conservative friends are fine with it. A few think it's a sin, but you know what? Christians have the same constitutionally-mandated right to be annoying that everyone else has.

But you both keep it a secret from Mr. and Mrs. Nguyen.

The 2008 election doesn't surprise you, but catches Isabelle off-guard. She frets about it. She starts telling you about how President Obama might not even be an American citizen. She's panicky in a way you've never seen before.

To calm her down, GO TO 56.

To pretend to agree, GO TO 57.


	38. Chapter 38

38\. The nice thing about being a famous artist is that nobody expects you to smile. Resting bitch face is ideal, and comes naturally to you anyway.

One of New York's Gagosians is showcasing your latest work, Crude #7. It's not much to look at: actual crude oil slathered over canvas.

At first, you tried to do something like [Pollock](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jackson_Pollock) would have done, to scatter or drip the oil in a way that suggested motion or dynamism.

But nobody cares about that, any longer. They just want to look hip. And what better way to do that than to be seen near a "post-something" by Jane Lane?

Did you call it post-commercial? Post-industrial? You don't even remember. It doesn't matter; you can change the name of the style and claim that the change represents the constant flux of modern society seeking to transgress self-imposed commercial boundaries…

You sip your martini.

There are still a few critics who can cut through the crap. Daria Morgendorffer, now an art critic, absolutely savaged your last presentation. She doesn't hold back, not even for old friends. You consider sending her flowers, but she'd probably interpret the gesture as ironic.

If nothing else, the Chesapeake School of Art taught you how to sell yourself. You still try to make art you care about, but it gets harder each year.

AND SO ON.


	39. Chapter 39

39\. Your painting confuses Pastor Reynolds.

"The colors are very pretty, and it's a nice decoration, but how does it tell people about the word of the Lord?"

You try to explain, but he doesn't get it. You're not sure he actually wants to get it.

For a while you put it aside, but that moment of conversion, of understanding, burns within you as surely as the Lord's love. Maybe it's pride—but you know that what the Lord did for you must be proclaimed.

Pastor Reynolds isn't happy when he finds out you've been trying to sell the painting, which you've titled Damascene Moment in Blue and Yellow. Art has a place, he says, but it must put the message first.

"No, that's advertising," you say.

Things go downhill from there. But there are other churches, and other artists. People see your work, and some are inspired.

There's nothing wrong with painting the classic moments in a representational style. But Christian art can't rest on the laurels of centuries past. It needs to challenge and provoke, the way [Breughel the Elder](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pieter_Bruegel_the_Elder) did.

So you go on, shouting out your faith in paint and in oil AND SO ON.


	40. Chapter 40

40\. Green Valley Christian High's a lot like Lawndale High. Sure, the school creed tells students to be Christ-like, but man's fallen nature—teenage man's extra-fallen nature—tends to interfere. Principal Mullins says the kids here are better, but they act the same dumb ways your old classmates used to.

None of that matters in your art class. Here, it's all about praising the Lord through work. And some of your kids do amazing work. You watch as Tim Creighton adds finishing touches to the fiery furnace that failed to singe Shadrach, Meschach, and Abednego, and you can almost feel the heat from the flames. Something about his style reminds you of [William Blake's](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Blake).

You listen to the kids when they talk to you. They know you'll overlook minor indiscretions, and help them get back on the right path without too much browbeating. The Lord forgives, and so do you when the rules let you.

There's not always much time for your own art, but maybe that's okay. Damascene Moment in Blue and Yellow, your abstract favorite, is still in your personal gallery, but it's a gift for the Lord alone. You accept that your role is to spread the Word in ways people can understand, and to help a new generation do the same.

After all, you got here by trying and failing to get into that long-past contest in Lawndale High. That rejection from Principal Li was the first step to learning humility, and overcoming yourself, AND SO ON.


	41. Chapter 41

41\. You pass beneath the gaze of the eyeless saints lining the walls of Gračanica. Fumes of burning incense settle into your skin and hair as your footsteps echo in the darkened sanctuary, the domed space illuminated with light from hundreds of candles.

Your father stays silent as he sets up his camera, observed by a watchful old nun. You've seen him do this with some variations several times—in Rila, in the Painted Monasteries of Bucovina, and others. The imagery repeats, but never fails to impress. [El Greco](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/El_Greco) Westernized the gilded refinement you see around you, and he did well—and now you've also seen the originals, done by forgotten names like [Michael Astrapas and Eutychios](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Astrapas_and_Eutychios).

Once done, you head back to Pristina with your dad. He's still healthy, but doesn't move as quickly as he used to. You're not sure that he really needed the help—but you sense he wants company.

You make a good team. He captures the image, and you draw inspiration from the colors and shapes. Eastern Europe's dark and chilly landscape ferments in your mind, mingling with the jungles and deserts you so recently left.

Not much news comes from the rest of the family. The Lanes don't stick together. You're not even surprised when your dad mentions that he separated from your mom a few years ago.

The old place in Lawndale still stands. You go back there after Europe. Trent lives nearby, married and earning a living by playing music at weddings and birthdays. He seems happy.

Seeing Trent, you understand why dad never wanted to stay in Lawndale.

You paint, but can never capture the essence of what you saw. Sometimes you paint Lawndale in tropical colors or in Byzantine gold, and these results are a little more satisfying. The paintings make a bit of money, but you cannot stand the phonies on the art circuit.

Fortunately, you don't have to. You pack your bags to again seek out the far corners of the Earth AND SO ON.


	42. Chapter 42

42\. Home feels even less like home than it did the first time you left.

You sell your services as a Spanish tutor, and do some painting on the side. Everything you create feels like a bad imitation of [Frida Kahlo](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frida_Kahlo), though you're not sure why—you didn’t even go to Mexico.

Sometimes, you consider joining dad in Eastern Europe.

And then Trent starts to have trouble walking. He ignores it—not like either of you can really afford a doctor's visit—but things get worse and worse. Finally, you force him to get a diagnosis.

It's Lou Gehrig disease.

You do what you can. You browbeat mom and dad into giving money. They don't seem to understand how bad things really are. Maybe it's just not their nature. You tutor more, and get a night job as an emergency dispatcher.

All the while, Trent worsens. He tries to shrug it off.

"It's too bad I didn't get sick earlier. I could've been in the 27 Club."

All the resentment you've built up for your brother falls away. He didn't know how to care about you, but at least he tried. No one else ever has.

You use the last of your funds hiring a nurse to help out in the last few months. She turns out to be an old classmate of yours: Sandi Griffin. She's attentive, easing Trent's last days. You help out, learn a bit about nursing.

Trent dies, and it hurts more than anything else has ever hurt. But at least he's not in pain anymore. Not lost without any idea what to do in life.

Sandi helps you find financial aid for nursing school. You study hard, and get your degree, specializing in palliative care. It matches your personality. You care, but you also know how to move on. Lanes always do.

AND SO ON.


	43. Chapter 43

43\. The problem with flight helmets is how damned sweaty you get in them.

Especially during a torpedo run.

Plasma flak burns bright streaks through the void as you make your approach. You've done this before, but it's never easy. Slow and steady—too fast and you'll slam into the Swarmer ship's oily green hull. Too slow, and the turrets will burn out your already dwindling shields.

All you can do is keep flying and wait until your targeting computer figures out the frequency of the cruiser's shields. Estimated time three seconds…

A burst almost knocks you off course, but you right your ship. That's the nice thing about flying the SF-74 Eagle—it responds well.

Two…

Shields drop down to just a shred, the energy barrier about as strong as tissue paper at this point.

One…

Another hit. Damage control screams as enemy fire shears off the armor on your starboard side.

Now!

You loose the torpedo and pull away. Flak cannons hammer away at your fleeing craft, chipping off bits and frying more on-board systems. Sparks shower in the cockpit as klaxons wail.

And then the darkness of space turns a blinding, brilliant white as the cruiser combusts. You risk a backward glance—[Nevinson's](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christopher_R._W._Nevinson) [Bursting Shell](http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/nevinson-bursting-shell-t03676), made by your hand.

Your head droops as you continue to sail through the void.

Thinking back on your life, you're not totally sure how you, of all people, ended up on the front lines of the United Earth Defense Force—the existence of which doesn't really make sense in the context of the early 21st century. It's almost as if you skipped ahead somehow…

Regardless of how you got here, there's a war to be won. Things are looking up. Fleet Admiral Brittany Taylor (how did that happen, again?) is leading you closer to the Swarmer home world, and to victory. Besides, all these space battles are giving you great ideas for some abstract expressionist pieces. You punch in the coordinates of your fleet, and set off for home, AND SO ON.


	44. Chapter 44

44\. Dusty Trails is pretty much what you'd expect from a Western-themed bar in New Mexico, with a jukebox that only plays country and coin-op saddle that the patrons really shouldn't use at their age.

But you make a living here. Plus, the one time Nathan showed up, the owner, Earl, of the bristly white mustache, threw him out with extreme prejudice. That was four years ago, and you haven't seen the bum since.

Earl trusts you to take care of Dusty Trails. And you do. Maybe, after failing at so many things for so long, you finally had to succeed at something. You tell this to Earl, and he says that's a sure sign to go Vegas, and you laugh it off.

Your paintings hang on the walls, though hardly anyone pays attention to them. Abstract desert landscapes aren't real popular here. That's okay; you make them for you, not for anyone else.

"Why don't you just paint cowboys?" Earl asks, one day.

"Because no one can paint them better than [Charles Marion Russell](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Marion_Russell) did," you say.

"This is true," he says.

AND SO ON.


	45. Chapter 45

45\. It's still a little hard to believe that you got into the fashion industry, of all things.

"Oh my God, people are going to flip when they see these! You are such an incredible artist, Jane."

It's even harder to believe that Quinn Morgendorffer is your business partner.

Chance brought you together. She saw your sketchbook, and asked if you wanted to work with her. Good thing she did; otherwise, you'd probably be on the streets. For a while, you worried that Quinn had ulterior motives—that she was angry at you for ditching Daria, years ago. But she's not.

For what it's worth, Daria is apparently working in some statistics research company on the East Coast. Quinn says that Daria rarely contacts the family.

"And that's totally not your fault, Jane. It's just the way she is, I think."

You aren't making much money from fashion. A part-time barista job keeps you afloat. But people are noticing your work. You got your foot in the door with the retro '40s approach, but have since expanded. Lately, you've been drawing inspiration from the imagery of [Gustav Klimt](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gustav_Klimt), specifically Adele Bloch-Bauer. Granted, you're far from the first person to do that, but you have your own unique spin.

Quinn's supportive. She's always there with something bright and cheerful to say, and even though you can't follow suit, you find it helps. You need praise after Nathan. Sometimes though, you wonder if she really means it or is just trying to be nice.

If you continue on this path, you eventually get a decent position in the business side of the fashion industry. You go back to painting, and sell a fair amount of your work as you age, but you never get much attention. There's a husband, a daughter, a divorce, and another (better) husband in the works. AND SO ON.

If you try to get in touch with Daria, GO TO 58.


	46. Chapter 46

46\. In retrospect, you were pretty stupid to think you could get away with forgery.

Life behind bars is mostly boring, but not without risk. If you draw a jack, GO TO 0.

Otherwise, Trent picks you up when you're released three years later. The conditions of your release require you to get a job, and there's a warehouse in town that has an arrangement to hire released female convicts.

It sucks, but beats the alternative.

As you work, you reflect on how thoroughly you screwed up. What on Earth possessed you to think you could fool people with a "newly discovered" [Gauguin](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Gauguin)? The sad part is, they figured it out pretty quickly. "Lazy brushwork" gave you away.

You're still living with Trent a few years later. He works retail during the day, and plays guitar at bars during the night. Neither of you is really going anywhere, so it suits you both to stick together.

The rest of your family isn't much help. Penny thinks it's cool that you "stuck it to the man", and you barely resist the urge to strangle her.

You think back to the track team. That was the last—hell, the only—time you felt like you belonged anywhere. And you had a few friends, acquaintances at least, outside of that. Maybe someone from there can help.

To contact Evan, GO TO 59.

To contact Jodie, GO TO 60.


	47. Chapter 47

47\. "I just wanted to say: 'Shadows on My Mind' got me through some tough times."

You nod as you finish the autograph. "I made that one during tough times, so I'm glad it helped."

Your fan smiles, and walks away. She looks familiar. Maybe from high school? Stacey?

You're not sure, and there are still people lined up for signatures.

Something about darkness in art calls out to the human soul. Everyone needs joy, yes, but folks lean on the sad stuff when things get grim. The suffering of others lets us know we're not alone.

It's quiet now, the café closing up for the night. Trent sits next to you, tuning his guitar. You check the time—10:16 pm. Get home early, and you can get a bit farther in finishing that copy of [Degas's](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edgar_Degas) L'Absinthe before you go to sleep. Gary's Gallery keeps you funded to pursue your passion.

Singing.

Your voice shouldn't be a good fit for music. Too low, too monotone, too smoky. But Louis Armstrong, Nico, and plenty of others had unconventional voices. You sound real. Given the dark nature of your lyrics and Trent's preference for minor chords, it works.

"Come on, Trent, ready to go?"

"Yeah," he says, standing up, AND SO ON.


	48. Chapter 48

48\. The Internet is never satisfied.

You give in. Followers submit ideas, and you take them. Mocking bad Sonic the Hedgehog fan art feels like a new low in the history of criticism, but your followers love it.

And as you do this, so do hundreds of others. Your niche nature protects you for a while—there are dozens of movie and game reviewers, but not as many for art. Still, your viewership shrinks as the '10s come around.

Worse, it's been three years since you've painted anything.

You have almost 10,000 followers. Patreon comes around, and with it, an idea. Your followers can sponsor your original artwork.

Over the next few weeks, you earn a meager $50 on Patreon. You wonder how much [Cezanne](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_C%C3%A9zanne) would've made with Patreon. Then you realize that it doesn't matter, since he at least consistently produced original work.

You remind them again on your YouTube channel, on your Twitter and Instagram. They make excuses. Some promise they'll pay, but you only get $23 more.

Nobody actually wanted to see your paintings. They just wanted to see you make fun of other people's. Hell, you don't even know how many of those followers are still active.

You close down the Patreon, and return the donations you receive. The YouTube channel stays open, but you announce there won't be any new videos. The Internet moves on.

Now, you're staring at a blank canvas, wondering how to start again.

To start painting, GO TO 61.

To look for inspiration, GO TO 62.


	49. Chapter 49

49\. You don't stop making videos, but you make fewer of them.

Nothing beats coming home from work to find a positive comment or two. Doesn't happen often, but it's pretty sweet when it does.

You keep painting. Your efforts garner attention at the annual Art in the Park, and you eventually get into a few shows in Baltimore. Nothing beyond that, though.

At work, you reach supervisor in a few years, and manager several years after that. The store occupies a lot of your time.

Life's conventional, and surprisingly easy. You try to compensate with something suitably bohemian, like abstract expressionism—[de Kooning](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Willem_de_Kooning) is a source of inspiration. But in the end, you're imitating, not innovating.

Maybe this is just who you are. And if that's the case, you may as well try to enjoy it, but you can't help wondering if you made the wrong choice somewhere along the way.

By this point in life, almost everyone wonders that, AND SO ON.


	50. Chapter 50

50\. "Total Collapse!" someone calls out. The rest of the bar joins in, until the name becomes a chant.

Up on stage, Trent smiles. He looks like the suburban dad he's become, complete with potbelly, receding hairline, and acceptance with how ridiculous he looks on stage. The rest of his band, All Along the Nightwatch Tower (a composite idea—Trent wanted to reference Hendrix, you wanted to reference [Rembrandt](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rembrandt)), looks the same, more or less.

"All right, get ready to party like it's 2006!" Trent shouts.

The bass line starts and the crowd cheers. "Total Collapse" is the only original song the band ever plays. Everything else is a cover.

In the back, you relax and sip your beer. You knew that Trent would waste the earnings from Mystik Spiral's brief moment of fame, so you made sure he put his proceeds to good use. Investment was new to you, though you picked up a few tidbits from your otherwise regrettable time with Tom.

Eight townhouses in and around Lawndale are under your and Trent's name. Trent and his family live in one, and tenants occupy the rest, producing modest but reliable income.

You got a condo unit with a third bedroom that you converted into a studio. Painting is mostly a hobby, and you've decided that's how you like to approach it.

The rest of your family threw a fit when they found out they didn't get a cut.

But that's their problem. You've got Trent, you've got Sophie (your girlfriend of five years), and an absolutely adorable nephew named Warren. There's just no time for bitterness and negativity AND SO ON.


	51. Chapter 51

51\. Working with musicians is like working with anyone else: you have to figure out what they don't know they want.

Starting at Degraded Records is jumping into the deep end, but you manage. Over the next few years you handle graphic design for a number of their bands. You decide what goes on posters, videos, and merchandise.

Mystik Spiral is still on the record, but they predictably haven't had a hit in years. Trent's peeved at you for leaving the band life, but he still accepts your help. Not much else you can do.

You try to move away from the German Expressionism that inspired you during your days as Mystik Spiral's graphic designer. Now, you draw from [Goya](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francisco_Goya), particularly the Horrors of War and the Black Paintings. Tough to do, given Degraded Records' preference for bold simplicity, but you pull it off.

By age thirty, you have your own small atelier.

An email comes in from management. A reporter from an obscure pop culture website wants to do a piece on your work, and they say they need the exposure. You say yes without thinking.

The follow-up email reveals the reporter's name: Daria Morgendorffer.

Well, shit.

The day of the interview arrives. You agree to meet Daria in a café near your office. Part of you hopes she won't show up—but a bigger part of you wants to see her again. You have friends, but you're not that close with any of them. Not like you were with her.

How do you want to handle this?

To try and be friendly, GO TO 63.

To keep it professional, GO TO 64.


	52. Chapter 52

52\. Your latest exhibit, "Variations on a Girl", is a modest hit. During the opening, you smile and chat with guests and other artists. People describe your work as a post-modern update of [John Singer Sargent](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Singer_Sargent)—which you don't really see, but whatever. You'll never be at the top, but people know your name.

You excuse yourself early. A quick exit helps your image—people will think you have someplace important to be.

But the truth is, you're just taking the night train to Philadelphia. You arrive in the dark hours of early morning.

Back home, you switch on the kitchen light, its glow harsh against the linoleum tiles. You put together a quick late-night meal: reheated pizza and a rum and coke. Artists were never known for healthy lives.

Once in your studio, you put your meal down on a table and turn on the small portable TV you keep on the desk. It's showing some old monster movie. _C.H.U.D._ , you're pretty sure.

Walking to the back of studio room, you go and pick up your best work, and the one you'll never show or sell: a portrait of Daria.

"Had a great show today, amiga. Wish you'd stuck around to see it."

No one blames you for what Daria did. Even Quinn said that Daria had made her own decision. But you still wonder. Maybe if you hadn't lost your temper, if you'd been more patient…

Except you _were_ patient! You put your career on hold to help her, let one opportunity slip away after another, just so you could keep her company. How could you _not_ be a little mad? How could she _do_ that to you? Did she care about you _at all_?

As always, you think about destroying the portrait. That's what she'd want, right?

Except that's not what you want, not usually. You just want to hear her voice. To show your work to someone who really gets it.

To have your best friend by your side.

You position the portrait so that it faces the TV. A rubbery monster with glowing eyes stares out of the tiny screen, and you imagine Daria mocking the bad special effect.

You lift your glass and take a sip as tears fill your eyes AND SO ON.


	53. Chapter 53

53\. You keep in touch with Daria over Instant Messenger, and then with Skype (she refuses to touch Facebook). She gets better, slowly. A few years after your move to the Big Apple, and she finds a new job doing writing and IT for a literary website.

"This one lets me work from home, so I don't even have to get close to people to judge them," she says.

Talking with Daria is how you spend your free time, and you have precious little of it. The art world is a constant hustle. Samantha provides the connections, and those connections lead to more connections. Your work sells, but NYC is pricey, so you get involved with the business side of art.

The breakneck pace continues for several years. You drink, probably more than you should, but you avoid ending up another [Modigiliani](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amedeo_Modigliani) or [Toulouse-Lautrec](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henri_de_Toulouse-Lautrec).

Daria visits you on occasion, and it works out well.

Thankfully, you're not there when the burglar breaks into your apartment. You don't have much to steal, but he (or she) takes every bit that isn't nailed down. Including your art.

Your momentum skids to a stop. You've been through bad times, and you know you'll get through this—but maybe you need to focus on getting more money. Move to a better part of town and get some real security.

To concentrate on cash, GO TO 65.

To keep at the dream, GO TO 66.


	54. Chapter 54

54\. Intel's a much colder world than the Navy, but that's probably a given. Everyone watches, everyone plots, everyone connives.

You keep track of various Arabic news sources, jotting down information and sending them to higher-ups who may or may not pay attention. On long days, Arabic letters weave together into moving [calligrams](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calligram#/media/File:Shiite_Calligraphy_symbolising_Ali_as_Tiger_of_God.png) before your eyes. Sometimes you even draw your own, though you keep this on the down low.

You're low enough on the totem pole to escape notice during the Trump presidency's constant re-shuffling. Senior administrators and translators are fired, and you fill in the gap as best you can. Your family recedes into the background—your husband's ex-military, so he understands. Someone has to stand guard.

It's a lonely vigil. You wish it didn't have to be you—but you're honored to have the opportunity AND SO ON.


	55. Chapter 55

55\. At first, you wonder how you ever managed it as a civilian.

Now, you wonder how you ever managed it in the Navy.

You maintain the disciplined routines that served you so well during your service. The fact that hardly anyone else bothers with such things is almost baffling to you, until you recall how lazy you used to be back in Lawndale.

You live in the suburbs of Atlanta now, in a modest apartment shared with a junior high English teacher. A city admin job pays the bills, and keeps you bored, bored, bored. You paint the things you've seen: ships at sea, crowded ports boiling under the hot sun, refugees fleeing war, polluted bays. [Winslow Homer](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winslow_Homer) updated for the War on Terror.

Your work does pretty well, but you're still lost. Around you, the world seems to get darker, war and ruin ever closer.

If things get as bad as you fear, you won't be any safer in Atlanta than you would be on a ship.

You re-enlist, AND SO ON.


	56. Chapter 56

56\. Isabelle calms down, over time. She later admits that the shock of the election threw her off the deep end, for a bit.

Not everyone else comes to their senses so quickly. Outwardly they don't change that much. They're still the same friendly, hard-working Americans you've come to respect. But when there's a deep and bitter resentment when they speak of politics.

"It's tough when most people disagree with you. Remember what it was like for us in school," Isabelle says. "Well, this entire state is like that."

Life's all right for you and Isabelle. There's a scare in 2010 when she accidentally outs herself to her mom and dad, and they cut off financial support. But they come around a year later.

Romney loses in 2012. Anger grows, conspiracies deepen. You drift from politics. Like always, art provides sanctuary. Your work becomes more complex and elaborate—modern California a la [Watteau](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean-Antoine_Watteau).

Trump wins in 2016, but it doesn't really feel like a victory. The rage and paranoia remain. Hell, they're worse. Isabelle, who didn't vote for president (neither did you—it's not like your vote matters in California) assures you things will get better.

You paint, and hope that she's right, AND SO ON.


	57. Chapter 57

57\. The Isabelle you loved is long gone. She still looks like Isabelle, sometimes still has that incisive wit and confidence you fell for—but she's now wracked by paranoia. You have theories as to why, but you don't like to think about any of them.

More and more of your friends jump onto the Birther bandwagon, until you and a few others stand as the last skeptical holdouts. You argue your position, and they dig in ever deeper.

You leave, and it's the hardest thing you've ever done. It's not just a break-up; it's the end of a life you'd built up for years.

Ultimately, you never got that involved in politics. What they said still makes sense, but you did it for the company, and maybe to show up your classmates back at the Chesapeake School of Art.

Maybe you need to figure out what, if anything, you really believe. You've lived in one bubble after another: Lawndale, art school, and suburban Southern California. You need to learn more.

Working on the road will be tough, but an iPad will let you make and send work to clients. In the meantime, you have a car, a fair amount in the bank, and an audiobook copy of Burke's Reflections on the Revolution in France that one of your still-sane friends recommended.

You actually recognized the audiobook package's portrait of Burke, done by [Joshua Reynolds](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joshua_Reynolds). But you'd never heard of the guy beyond that. He's apparently the founder of modern conservatism.

It's pretty dense—kind of boring, to be honest—but you'll have time.

Pulling out of the driveway, you prepare to explore America AND SO ON.


	58. Chapter 58

58\. Daria's gotten a lot chattier, as if her years of social isolation had dammed up all her opinions.

And you were dumb enough to break the dam and stay in the way of the rushing waters.

She calls in, and you talk and exchange sarcastic remarks, except now you're a lot busier than you used to be. Daria keeps making jabs at Quinn and the fashion industry.

"Never figured you for a fashion addict, Jane," she says.

You try to think of something witty, but are distracted by some lazy linework on your last sketch. Promising to call back later, you hang up and fix the problem. You've been trying to adapt the flowing, geometric styles of [Marie Laurencin](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marie_Laurencin). Who says that Cubist influence has to be limited to art, after all?

Daria calls you again the next day. You mention your latest efforts.

"You ought to be proud," she says. "Using the heartfelt work of artists past to separate plebs from their money."

And suddenly, you just don't have the energy to be clever.

"You know what, Daria? Don't call me again."

You hang up. It's pretty damn gratifying. AND SO ON.


	59. Chapter 59

59\. In Evan's arms, you forget your troubles.

Evan's inheritance lets him coast through life. You make each other feel young again, like you're runners on the track with brilliant futures ahead of you. It doesn't matter that you're an ex-con, or that he's never held a serious job.

Unfortunately, money has a way of dwindling, even if there's a lot of it. You don't bring in much, and don't know how to get more. Evan just wants to take things easy, and you have to admit that you're the same way. Being with him means you can give up, forget all those absurd dreams of winning at track or being the next [Matthew Barney](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matthew_Barney).

"Something will turn up," he says.

Trent used to say that a lot.

It's not too late to contact Jodie and GO TO 60.

Otherwise, you and Evan hover in limbo for a few years.

You don't even object to his latest idea. Instead, you polish off a few glasses of wine, get into the passenger seat, and hold his free hand as he slams down on the accelerator and sends the car flying off a cliff.

GO TO 0.


	60. Chapter 60

60\. You study the painting, marveling at the bold and jagged lines that make an otherwise ordinary street scene come alive. It's like one of [Boccioni's](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Umberto_Boccioni) Futurist paintings, but less lofty and more real.

"This is incredible," you say.

"Aw, come on. I just threw it together," Norma says.

Turns out, Jodie knew how to help. Your spotless record since your arrest made you a viable candidate for an ex-con mentoring program, and she pointed you in the direction of a local one.

Norma did time for possession. Her family's more of a mess than yours, and she probably has more talent than you ever did. You're trying to help her kick-start her career, which is tricky because you never figured out how to kick-start your own. Life's still hard, but helping people makes it hurt less.

At least when Norma has to choose between paying for art supplies and heroin, she goes for the former. So far as you can tell, at least.

Your life has mostly been one failure or disaster followed by another. But there's a certain honor in being a bad example that steers others onto the right path, AND SO ON.


	61. Chapter 61

61\. As a kid, you always loved the idea of outsider artists. Some of it was just because they tended to be weirdoes, and you liked learning about weirdoes.

You're not sure how you feel when people apply the label to you.

They're only sort of right. True, you've never had much formal training beyond a few seminars and (mostly regrettable) art camps. On the other hand, you don't have any serious mental illnesses, and you have an analytical understanding of your medium. After all, you spent years reviewing it online, sometimes in a serious way.

But they mostly remember the videos where you mocked bad fan art with other Internet celebrities.

At any rate, the marketers love it. Jane Lane, the Internet-reviewer-turned-artist, is too good a byline to pass up.

You just wonder if they care about your paintings, or only enjoy you as a curiosity. Granted, the work for which you're famous is pretty outre, images torn straight from your id.

Maybe it'd have been better if you'd remained unknown until your death. [James Hampton](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Hampton_%28artist%29) never had to worry about people liking his work for the wrong reasons.

At least your art gets attention AND SO ON.


	62. Chapter 62

62\. Looking for inspiration is almost a full-time job.

You go for walks, visit galleries, and watch movies. You drink, like so many artists have done before you, and the alcohol lets you pretend things are better, but doesn't really help.

Years pass. You get a low-end HR job at a marketing company. When you visit a Starbucks one day, the barista recognizes you from YouTube, and you reminisce about old times as he preps your drink.

Inspiration strikes when you stop looking for it. You're in the dentist's waiting room with a smartphone low on batteries, so you comb through the old magazines, wondering how many people still read them. A small local journal catches your eye; flipping through it, a story and a name grab your attention.

"Shooting in the Dark", by Daria Morgendorffer.

It's just a few pages long, telling the story of a marriage's slow dissolution, ending with a gun fired at an ambiguous target. The plot isn't anything new but the imagery—sterile suburban homes, endless commutes on streets jam-packed or empty—sticks with you.

You start painting as soon as you get home. Thoughts of Daria's prose mingle with images of [Wyeth's](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrew_Wyeth) more desolate works. It's the first of several paintings on this theme.

To your surprise, they sell.

Daria has no social media presence, but you do learn that she's gotten ten stories published, either online or in small regional magazines. Luck leads you to an email address under Daria's name. You're not even sure if she still uses it, but you send her a message all the same. You tell her that you read "Shooting in the Dark", and that it helped.

She replies.

"Thanks. I actually watched a lot of your videos back in the day. Your critiques of bad fan art were fun to watch, and actually pretty insightful (regarding how we consume and regurgitate pop culture) at times. I'm sorry that you stopped, but I understand the need to focus on your art.

"I still write, but I've accepted my role as a medium talent who'll always need a day job. For a living, I proofread instructional manuals for farm equipment. No one's lost any fingers yet, so I guess I'm doing okay. How are things with you?"

So she actually liked your dumb videos.

It's good to hear from her. Daria can't admit she wants your forgiveness, but you can tell that she does. Your forgiveness will come in the form of never even mentioning Tom. You start to write a response, AND SO ON.


	63. Chapter 63

63\. You almost think you're seeing things when Daria enters the café. She's barely changed since high school, her elfin face still encircled by thick and poorly maintained brown hair, still dressed in thick layers as if to ward off the world. Watchful eyes zero in on you from behind the protection of plate-thick lenses.

"Hey there, amiga! Long time, no see."

You smile, but already the words feel fake. Her gaze turns flat and hostile.

Well, how were you supposed to sound? She was the one who wronged you.

You sigh. "Let's get this over with."

What follows is the most awkward interview of your entire career. Daria's still sharp—she asks the right follow-ups at the right times. But her tone and her look evince no real curiosity. You feel like the woman in [Fuseli's](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Fuseli) Nightmare, with Daria as the scowling gargoyle.

Finally, she finishes. Putting her pen and paper back in her coat pocket, she stands up.

"Daria," you say, "I'm not still mad at you over what happened in high school. If I seemed happy to see you… it's because I was."

She shakes her head. "It's not 'what happened' in high school. I betrayed your trust because I was greedy, insecure, and callous. I accept that. So should you. False magnanimity isn't a good look for you."

She walks out. It's the last time you ever see her.

A week later, you still wonder if maybe on some level she wanted to see you again, to make amends, but didn't know how. Her knee-jerk cynicism made her suspicious of anything you said.

You have to admit that you probably never really understood her. Thinking back to your parents, to Tom, to Trent, and the coworkers you don't talk to that much, you wonder if you've ever understood anyone, AND SO ON.


	64. Chapter 64

64\. You almost think you're seeing things when Daria enters the café. She's barely changed since high school, her elfin face still encircled by thick and poorly maintained brown hair, still dressed in thick layers as if to ward off the world. Watchful eyes zero in on you from behind the protection of plate-thick lenses.

The interview's a little awkward, but goes well. Her questions are sharp and incisive. You stay on topic, giving the occasional sarcastic aside, and you think you see her smile once or twice.

"Thanks for interviewing me," you say, at the finish.

"You're one of the least boring people I've interviewed, so if anything, I should be thanking you."

It seems like a truce, at long last. Daria probably still feels terrible over what she did—but she's never been very good at processing her emotions. Maybe glossing over it is the best way to move on.

Work goes well, and your [Aubrey Beardsley](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aubrey_Beardsley)-inspired designs for The Drinking Club's 2015 tour win a few awards. Not many people care about your paintings.

Likewise, Daria's interviews, critiques, and commentary pieces earn readers and accolades, but no one pays attention to her short stories, and her novel never finds a publisher.

Maybe there's a bit of self-sabotage involved. Neither of you was ever that good at artistic compromise. You keep each other company as you both succeed in fields outside of your avocations, AND SO ON.


	65. Chapter 65

65\. The art dealer's life is a good one, for you. You're always busy, a million projects and opportunities occupying each and every moment. Somehow your brain adapts, dollars and cents and investments taking root in the gray matter.

There are some disappointments. You don’t really produce your own work any longer. Which is a problem, because you'd hoped to use your business connections to leverage your artistic ambitions. It didn't work out.

Maybe you're too critical. The last project you personally finished, a mobile, just looked too much like a reheated [Alexander Calder](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexander_Calder) piece for you to take seriously. It's hard to be original when there are already so many voices. Plus, with video and installation art being all the rage, your stuff is kind of quaint.

But hey, you're rich and you still get to work with artists. It's not a bad way to end up.

Daria got out of her funk. She wrote a series of critically acclaimed but commercially obscure novels that ensured her acceptance into the New York literary world, and also ensured she won't have enough to afford a place of her own here. Your friendship is as strong as ever, though you sometimes wonder if you should've stayed true to her vision the way she did.

Regardless, you're wealthy, powerful, and beautiful in New York City, and that's not a bad combination, AND SO ON.


	66. Chapter 66

66\. You still don't think that you've been working long enough to deserve an eponymous retrospective. But your agent insists, and you finally cave.

It's a small showing—your art is respectable, but it will never take the world by storm. You're okay with that, though. Ultimately, you followed your muse, not the world's.

As always, you keep a low profile during the show. Something about speaking for your art always bothered you—you intend your work to speak for itself. It's about halfway done, and no one will mind if you take a quick break.

You look over at Daria. She keeps an even lower profile than you, writing modestly successful macabre literary fiction under a pen name and several fake social media accounts. She doesn't like attention, either.

"Want to grab some pizza?"

"Sure. Why bother hiding from you fans when you can completely abandon them?"

"I coddle them too much, anyway. Let's go."

You walk past your paintings on the way out. You see the influence of a hundred different artists, but each and every one is a Jane Lane original AND SO ON.


End file.
